[ Verso smiles a little at the sound of his gentle laugh, at how it bobs in his throat under his mouth. Merde, everything about this man, every response he pulls from him -- he just wants to drink in it, revel in it for more time than they could possibly have left. His hand pulls open that top button of his undershirt, and he immediately chases down the newly exposed sliver of skin with his tongue. His hand lifts to the leather straps across his chest where they are just starting to get in the way of that, pulling them open.

His eyes flick up, lips curved into a smirk, eyes dark when he meets Gustave's gaze. A small appreciative tumble in his throat from Gustave's hand over his thigh. ]

I like when you get like that.

[ Its cute. Endearing. Genuinely, he'd found it horrifically disarming that first night at the opera house, and even more disarming every time since -- but he also likes knowing he has that effect on him. That he can make his words stumble, his thoughts stop. ]

I think I won't, mon chou. [ Verso leans up, pressing another kiss to his lips, lighter, sweeter -- and starting to mouth across his cheek and jaw, over rough scruff to his ear. ] I'd lean close, keep up our lively conversation. Ask you questions, keep you talking.

And all the while I'd be pulling your pants open. Until I could touch you.

[ And would he have really done that, in their theoretical date in Lumiere? Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. Right now the image is appealing, Gustave dressed nicely for the occasion but coming apart little by little even as he tries to hold himself together. ]